


got these feelings that I'm tired of holding on

by PoemIsDead



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Also some feels, Bottom!Mark, Dominant!Jack, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Shameless Smut, Sparring, top!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/pseuds/PoemIsDead
Summary: Jack's been working with some of the stuntmen from theBlack Pantherpremiere, but Mark is still sure he can beat him. After all, they're juststunt guys. It's all for show.But maybe Jack's a little better than he thought. And maybe they work out a little more than just some physical frustrations.





	got these feelings that I'm tired of holding on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CookieDancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieDancer/gifts).



> So this is completely [CookieDancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieDancer)'s fault. I had a very vague idea for a new fic now that the boys are talking again, and then Cookie just had to come in, and spin her magical little idea about Jack's new sparring abilities, and I shamelessly stole it, and here we are.
> 
> I've spent the last 48 hours basically completely invested in this. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life anymore xD

"I'm a fuckin' deadly weapon, Fischbach."

Mark smirked as he watched Jack leaning back in his bright green chair, all giddy excitement and false confidence, and he wanted to snicker at how stupidly happy he seemed just then, but he didn't. It'd been a while since he'd gotten to talk to the Irishman like this, after their little falling out, and he was still feeling out the atmosphere, not entirely sure if they were back on that comfort level yet.

But he was happy to see him so happy. He was the same bouncy Jack he remembers, talking too fast and having to suck in huge breaths in between his words as he told him all about the _Black Panther_ premiere where he got to practice with some professional stuntmen. Jack had posted a sneak peek video on Twitter just that morning, and Mark had gotten to see his "impressive moves" himself. But the smol Irish bean was getting too big for his britches, in his own humble opinion.

"Uh huh," Mark said, letting his smirk twist up his face, narrowing his eyes as he made a show of looking the other over. "You're still a twig, Jack. I could break you with one hand if I wanted to."

That wasn't true. He'd watched that video, maybe a few more times than he needed to, and the grainy image of Jack in tight black clothes, lean arms twisting the stuntman around, lithe body ducking out of the way with natural grace - well, he wasn't exactly a pushover. But Jack didn't need to know that.

"Ohhh, you _wish_ , Mark. I could have yeh on yer back in no time."

Mark resisted the urge to clear his throat, pushing away the weird familiar tingle he got from the words as he scoffed.

"I'll remind you, I wrestled in high school. I'm pretty comfortable on my back."

"Okay, for one, that's _wrestling_. That's like, a sport with rules and shit, no' real fightin'." He was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest with a big grin on his face, looking too superior by half. And Mark might have been more annoyed by that if he wasn't so distracted by the way the muscles in his arms were tensing against each other. "And two, that was back in high school, and yer an old man, so."

"Hey, who you callin' old, mister?" Mark shot back, leaning forward against his desk to point an accusatory finger. "I could whoop your ass any day. Just look at these bad boys."

He stepped away from his desk, giving a nice wide angle for Jack to appreciate him in all his American glory as he pulled his short sleeves back over his shoulders and flexed. And yeah, it was maybe a little over the top, and yeah, maybe he strained harder than he needed to, and yeah, maybe he was just being goofy. But that didn't stop him from watching Jack's face as he looked him over, searching it for something.

And yeah, maybe he imagined that bit of pink in Jack's cheeks as he tried not to grin. But he'd like to imagine he didn't.

"Oh, psh, come on _Mark_ -" he said his name in that peculiar way, one of the only things about his accent that still stood out to the American after getting so familiar with his voice. "-muscles aren't everything. Yeh wouldn't know what teh do with 'em if we got to it. Yeh gotta get that _experience_ , that _confidence_ , yeh know?"

"And you got that from one session with some stunt guys."

"I knew some stuff before," Jack answered with a shrug, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief as he leaned forward. "But I'm goin' back to work with one of them again in a few weeks. By the time I see yeh again, I'll be a badass."

"Well, you'll have to prove it when you get here," Mark answered with a fresh smirk, stepping back up to his desk, but not bothering to fix his sleeves. It wasn't like it was a bad view, he was sure.

"Oh, I will Markimoo. M'gonna kick yer ass, I am."

"You're gonna try," Mark answered, and he could feel the little tingles of excitement running through him at the thought.

  


* * *

  


It was almost three months before they saw each other in person again. The friendship had fallen back in, the stiff time they'd spent apart melting into the background as they fell back into old routines. Maybe there was some awkwardness here and there, but they were getting past it, especially with they're friends to smooth things over. Bob and Ethan seemed to be the best to bring in, both having formed good friendships with Jack, and it made everything easier when they were all together.

But they'd been pretty good on their own, too. They'd actually done a few one-on-one collabs, and they were back to their regular calls, sometimes with the guys, sometimes just them. They were falling back into it, getting comfortable again, joking and laughing and maybe flirting the tiniest bit, though neither seemed eager to spur the shippers back up too hard. But it was nice again. And when Jack had started planning his next trip to America, it had seemed only natural for Mark to invite him to stay at his place.

He'd gone to pick him up from the airport, knowing how he felt about taking rides with strangers, a little nervous knowing it would just be the two of them. Bob and Wade were both coming up, but their flights wouldn't be in until tomorrow, and Ethan and Kathryn were both buried in work preparing the videos Mark had managed to stockpile, and he probably had a fair bit of work he needed to be getting done himself, but how could he focus on any of that when _Jack was here_.

The discomfort had evaporated pretty quickly once he actually saw him. Jack was all bright, bubbly energy, talking with some random woman on the curb as Mark pulled up, and he grinned that shining grin of his and waved as he caught sight of the American. Bright and easy. And then Mark had hopped out, flipping the trunk open and snatching up the Irishman's luggage and laughing at the little cry of outrage, as he _insisted_ he could take care of his own bags, only for Mark to reach out on instinct, tickling him quick and threatening more as he shoved the bags into the trunk, and all the awkwardness just kind of . . . went away.

They talked animatedly on the way home, Jack going on and on about some of the things he'd been up to, telling him about exploring Brighton and doing more collabs with Robin and PJ, and Mark listened eagerly, not needing to struggle in the slightest to stay engaged as Jack rambled. It was just nice to hear his voice again.

And maybe he was appreciating the lean lines of Jack's body a little as he struggled out of his jacket in the warm car, baring himself back down to a simple black t-shirt.

Of course, it had to be a black t-shirt.

When they got back to the house, Mark jumped out of the car as fast as he could, darting around the back to pop the trunk and reach for the bags once more, grinning as he heard Jack shout in good-natured irritation.

"Mark, I can carry m'own bags!"

"Not with those skinny arms, you can't," Mark shot back, grinning a shit eating grin as he watched Jack dash around the car, hands out like he was going to snatch them right out of Mark's hands.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"I left you some!" Mark assured with a grin, ducking out of Jack's reach as he dragged the heavy luggage towards his front door. "You know, the light stuff that you can actually _manage_."

"Mark, I'm gonna kill yeh." But Jack was grinning at him as he snatched the remaining bag from the car, and Mark only laughed back at him.

"Come kill me, buddy boy. If you even _can_."

He managed to get in the house before Jack crashed into him, shoulder slamming into the space between his shoulder blades, not hard enough to knock him over, but enough to catch his breath, and he abandoned the bags by the door as he wheeled on him. The Irishman was grinning, half crouched, his bag dropped by the door and his hands out, like he was getting ready to grab him. His dark hair was messy under his beanie, his blue eyes were sparkling, and his muscles were shifting under his pale skin as he shifted, and everything about him was just _bright_ and alive.

He'd forgotten how goddamn attractive he was in person.

"I ain't no scrawny kid fer yeh to bully, _Mark_ ," Jack said, still grinning and pitching his voice low, almost a growl. "I'll put a hurt on yeh, I swear."

The memory of the teasing, joking about Jack's new stunt skills over skype and promising to prove it, popped into his head with no warning, and suddenly, he was grinning back, straightening up with a heavy smirk as he stepped back, towards the open living room.

"Alright, Jackaboy, come _prove it_."

Jack was still grinning, but it was a little less sure, straightening up as he watched Mark march into the room and start shoving the coffee table out of the way.

"What, here?" he spluttered.

"Yeah, we're gonna fight. Right here. There's plenty of space."

Jack laughed, and the sound was tinged with something Mark couldn't identify. "We're gonna break something, Mark."

"Nah, nah, not if we move this over here, and I can just shove the couch back a little."

"What about the TV?"

"It's up on the wall. If I'm throwing you that high, there's a problem."

Jack snorted at that. "Yeh ain't throwin' me nowhere."

"No? Did your stunt buddies teach you to fly."

"I'll show yeh what they taught me."

Mark turned back from where he'd been shoving the last piece of furniture out of the way at the tone in Jack's voice. It had pitched lower again, growling and dark, and his eyes matched his voice as he _prowled_ towards him. It was the only word for how his body moved just then, his shoulders rolling softly as he stepped down off the little lip of the foyer into the living room proper, and one steady hand came up to pull his beanie off in a smooth motion, tossing it aside carelessly, eyes never leaving Mark.

He looked like a predator of some kind. A creature on the hunt, and Mark's stomach did something funny as he kept his shitty grin on, fighting the way his breath wanted to hitch up. Jack was supposed to be all bright and bubbly, and maybe this was still bright, but more like a burn than a shine, and it was not what he was expecting when he looked up.

He couldn't stop himself from swallowing, and he saw the way Jack's eyes went to his throat to watch the action, his skin heating up under his gaze.

But the moment passed as Jack stepped closer, his grin turning a little sloppy, nervous as he stepped into the little ring Mark had made, and everything slipped back to how it had been a moment ago, normal friends getting ready to playfight.

"Okay, so . . . what? We just fight? Or . . ." Jack was tugging at the bottom of his shirt, playing with the black fabric as he grinned at him, shaking his head a little to flip hair out his face. It was weird seeing him without the green, but it was also . . . nice. He'd come to like it.

"Yeah, let's say we do three rounds, and just play to 'uncle'?"

"Uncle?"

"Yeah, just whoever says 'uncle' first. Like, when you give up. Have you never said 'uncle' before?"

"I get it, I get it. Alright, so uh . . ." Jack paused, reaching down to tug his shoes and socks off, digging his toes into the soft carpet and shifting into a comfortable crouch. "Alright, let's do this."

Mark grinned at him, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck exaggeratedly, confident in his win. Jack was strong, and he was quick. But he was learning from _stunt_ guys, and what they did was all show. Mark, on the other hand, had actually learned how to take someone down before, and he was sure he had him beat on raw power. The little Irishman didn't have a chance.

"Come on, Jack. Let's see your _skills_."

The wicked grin Jack gave him in response to that should have been his warning, but Mark was nothing if not oblivious.

  


* * *

  


It wasn't until several minutes later, as his face was shoved into the carpet, a knee digging harshly into his thigh, that Mark realized he might have fucked up.

He'd already lost the first round. And he lost it quick, Jack surprising him with his speed, and how _sure_ he was with his movements, knowing just where to put his hands, where to press into his leg to send him to his knees. Just his sheer speed had earned him the win, pinning Mark before he had time to process the surprising turn of events, and getting him into a firm hold that the American had been nowhere near flexible enough to escape from.

That had been embarrassing enough. But it had been a _fluke_ , he'd assure the smug Irishman before they went at it again. But Jack was just so _fast_ and sure and solid, his hands steady and firm every time they were on him, and he moved him like he was putty in his hands, bending him around to use his own weight against him. Mark had put up a better fight the second time, pinning Jack once, loving the feel of his dense little body under him - maybe more than just enjoying the taste of victory. But he'd managed to wriggle out of it, and now here they were, Jack arched gracefully over Mark's prone form, arm shoved into the little valley in the back of his neck, part of his weight shooting pain through Mark's thigh as he dug his knee in, one arm trapped under him, and the other twisted harshly behind his back.

He couldn't get out of this. He was almost absolutely sure. He wasn't as flexible as Jack, and Jack had gotten a better grip on him than he'd expected, and it had been too long since he'd done this. He was stronger, for sure. But Jack had the upper hand now. He'd been right about everything he said, the smug little bastard.

Not that he was about to admit that.

"Say it, Mark," Jack growled into his ear, and Mark could hear the grin in his voice even as he repressed the shudder that tried to run through him.

"No," Mark answered, huffing as he tried to get enough air in and wincing as Jack twisted his arm just a little more, little shots of pain racing up to his shoulder. Not really bad, mind. But enough to make him hiss.

"Say it. Don't be stubborn. Yeh lost, now say it."

"No!" He was laughing a little around his panting, his voice turning just a little goofy as he tried to play, loathed to admit defeat. He had no plan going forward, he just knew he didn't want to say that damn word.

Jack rewarded his flippant response with another harsh twist to his wrist, and he leaned further over, knee digging into the meat of his thigh as he brought his lips down to Mark's ear.

"Fuckin' say it, Mark."

Mark sucked in a shaky breath, fighting the flush that was spreading through him. This was in no way a comfortable position, and Jack was not trying to be sexy - as a matter of fact, he seemed a little annoyed - but Mark was having a damn hard time keeping his head out of the gutter with the way he was growling in that usually bright voice, the feel of his breath ghosting across the shell of his ear.

"No, I don't want to," he answered, aiming for a kind of sing-song tune to his voice, but it just came out breathless, only the grin clear in the sound showing his giggling response.

"Mark-"

"Make me," Mark shot with a smug smirk, shutting his mouth to breathe hard through his nose, trying to control the way his heart was hammering in his chest, or the adrenaline racing through him.

For a moment, Mark thought Jack might hit him. Or twist his arm harder, or yank his hair, or something. He was silent for a few moments, Jack's breathing steady in his ear as he considered him, and Mark practically held his breath as he waited.

"Why can't you ever admit when you fucked up?" Jack asked in a low, dangerous voice. And Mark knew he wasn't just talking about the sparring.

It was . . . _maybe_ mostly his fault. Their fight that day, the rift that had been driven between them. He could still see the way Jack's bright eyes drew back in hurt, in anger, in disgust. Mark probably could have fixed it then, if he'd just stopped and apologized, admitted he went too far, admitted he got caught up. But he didn't. He made a joke, he laughed it off, he went on about his day because it was easier than actually addressing it, and with all the stress of the convention going on he just wanted _something_ to be easy. So what if he hurt Jack's feelings? So what if he'd upset him? He'd come back, Mark'd apologize, they'd fix everything _after_ , when he wasn't going out of his goddamn mind with everything going on.

Of course, that wasn't how it had gone. But it was how it was _supposed_ to go. It's how he'd meant it to. He'd never meant to hurt him, because he loved the fucker, but he was just . . . stubborn. And stupid. Really stupid.

"I fuck up sometimes," he admitted after a moment, letting his voice drop a bit, genuine, just for a second. His face was pushed a little to the side, and he turned it further, wincing at the little shots of pain as he moved around Jack's strong arm, and looked up at him out of the corner of his eye.

Jack was looking down at him with dark eyes, frustration in his features, and he'd never looked quite so intimidating as he did just then, the muscles in his arm bunching under the black shirt as he held him down. At his mercy, beneath him.

That sent another little spike of arousal through him, and he swallowed.

"I do, I fuck up. Just not right now." Mark grinned up at him, trying to break the tension, the strain that was still there from time to time, and his own stupid excitement that really had _no_ place in this sparring match, because he could _not_ afford a boner here.

But it worked. Jack's lips pulled back in an exasperated smile, and he rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance as he dug his fingers into Mark's arm.

"Yeh gotta say it, Mark. We're not movin' till yeh do."

And then Jack shifted, moving the knee off his thigh to get a more comfortable position, knees on either side of his legs, holding them together as he leaned over him, chest pressed against the hand twisted awkwardly behind his back. And that lined him up all too well in ways Mark didn't want to think about as he struggled to calm his racing his heart.

His mouth, as always, had a mind of its own, taking over when his own brain was incapable of forming interesting sentences, kicking in to fill the silence with words, like he did in videos. Only his head was in way too dangerous a place to be playing that game.

"Say what?" he asked, mostly just being a little shit, but also stalling, hoping he could keep him talking long enough to make sure he wasn't sporting a damn chub when they stood back up.

"You know damn well what, Mark. Yer gonna say it, and m'not gonna move until yeh do."

"What am I supposed to be saying, huh?" he teased, mouth rambling as he tried to think pure thoughts, and not about Jack's strong hands holding him down, hips pinning his to the carpet, the feel of his breath against his ear. "'You've got great hair, Jack'? Or 'You're a little Irish coffee bean'? Or 'TOP OF THE MORNIN' TO YA-'"

Jack twisted his arm harshly, nails digging into his skin, and Mark hissed as he realized the sensation wasn't exactly _helping_ him just then, as he panted into the carpet.

"'Uncle.' Say 'uncle' Mark."

And then, because his brain was nothing but filthy and cruel to him, his mouth just spluttered the next word that popped into his head.

"Daddy?"

Okay. Yep. He was going to have to examine the way that made him feel at a later date.

The arm that had been pressed into his throat pulled back, freeing him for the briefest moment before it buried itself in his hair and yanked his head back, bringing him up so their faces were side by side, and Jack's lips were far too close now as he fought not to tremble under him.

"Say. It."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, was he sure Jack wasn't trying to be sexy? Because Jesus Christ, his voice, the way he was growling right into his ear, the way his body was pressing over him, the firm grip he had on his arm and hair alike, a delicious burn in his scalp. The absolute confidence he was radiating just then, like he was _sure_ he had all the power over him. Like a Dom-

"Uncle," Mark choked, cheeks flushed red and breathing rapid, and he needed to get out from under him now or he was going to do something he regretted.

Jack released him, letting his face fall back to the soft carpet and releasing the arm he'd twisted behind his back. But he didn't stand up immediately, just sat on Mark's legs and let out a low breath, like he'd had a workout. He was sitting just behind the swell of his ass, his hips still pressed dangerously close, and Mark was really trying not to think about it, he swore he was.

When Jack did stand, it was abrupt and startling, shoving off the ground in a harsh movement and dusting his pants with jerky hands. Mark pressed himself up carefully, wincing at the new aches spread across his body from the simple position, and turned to watch as Jack gave him a quick, smug grin before turning to march off back towards his luggage.

He wasn't even going to gloat yet. That little shit.

"Hey!" Mark shouted from his position on the ground, turning slightly to readjust his pants before popping up onto his knees, heading towards standing. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Teh put m'stuff up," he answered in a cheery voice. "I mean, we're done here, aren't we?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no, you get your little Irish butt back over here, we still have a round left."

Jack laughed, but he'd stopped, turned back towards him, taken a step forward, and his eyes were laughing too.

"Mark, I've already won two. That's two out of t'ree. I win."

"No, no, no, this last one is winner takes all."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked, and he was pacing back towards him now, his shoulders rolling like a cat's once more. "What's in it for me? _I_ already won."

"No, you just won some rounds, but you didn't _win_. You gotta actually win to _win_."

"Uh huh. And what does the winner get?"

"One wish, and the loser has to make dinner tonight."

Something flashed in Jack's eyes, and he stepped closer, dropping into that comfortable crouch again, the one where he could move so fast, all fluid and easy, and there was no way Mark was winning this, but he'd just been so loathed to let the little moment pass. He doubted he was going to get such a . . . dominant Jack the rest of the visit. And he wanted to see what he'd do.

"Sure, Markimoo. Come on, then."

They went back at it, and it was a bitter fight, Mark constantly struggling just to stay out of pins. He got in a few good hits with his elbow into Jack's side, earning a grunt from the smaller man, but Jack returned it with a quick gut punch, not that hard, but enough to double him over, unable to resist as Jack brought him back down into a choke hold, legs wrapped around his, pulling him flush against his body. Mark could feel the warmth seeping into his back as Jack's arm dug under his chin, pressing against his throat, cutting off his air, and the feeling was heady, a low groan in his throat as he tried not to think of why.

He wasn't sure how he got out of that one. Maybe Jack had just decided to take pity on him. But it wasn't like it made that much of a difference. Jack was quick and clever, his hands roaming across his body as he twisted him into new positions, fighting for dominance and winning nine times out of ten, until Mark was breathless and shaking as Jack pinned him against the couch.

If Jack had put him in this position ten minutes ago, he probably could have gotten out of it with ease. He wasn't even holding him that hard, his arm pressed behind his back once more, both of them on their knees on the floor as Jack used one hand to shove him face down into the couch cushion by the back of his neck, and it was probably the tamest of the fighting that had happened so far.

Certainly not the tamest for his new erection, but there wasn't much he could do about that at this point, besides wait for Jack to let him up and use his master boner-hiding skills until he could get to the bathroom.

He could just see Jack's face out of the corner of his eye, seeming to tower over him as his hooded eyes looked him over - not asking for it this time, just waiting - and fuck, Mark was definitely jerking it to this when he got some fucking privacy.

Wasn't the first time he'd secretly jerked to Jack, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

"Do I win again?" Jack asked after a few minutes of the only sound in the room being both of their heavy breathing. Mark only grunted in reply, shifting his knees to find a better position, and to feel the way Jack pressed a little harder against his neck.

Only, when he shifted, so did Jack, his knees shuffling between his victim's and he pressed closer to get a better grip, and he was basically grinding his hips into Mark's ass, which in turn was grinding Mark's stiffy right into the couch, and he couldn't have stopped the choked groan he made if he'd tried.

Jack froze, and Mark froze with him, heart suddenly in his fucking throat as he'd realized how . . . _erotic_ that noise had been. Fuck, he should have had a better hold on his fucking mouth, but when had it ever done anything other than get him in trouble, and shit, he was trying really hard not to freak him out, because Mark really wanted him to hang for the week, and it wasn't his fucking fault Jack had to be so goddamn sexy, and-

"Mark."

Mark swallowed harshly, his breathing erratic at the iron tone in Jack's voice, so different from what he was used to. Commanding, solid, sure, and oh so attractive. He was still freaking out a little, but the voice seemed to soothe over the panic, like a salve, and his legs were shaking as he tried to keep himself up, pinned to the couch as he was.

"Y-yeah?"

"Do. I. Win." Each word was punctuated with another little squeeze around his throat, and Mark took a shaky breath around the firm press of his fingers, not anywhere near his airway, but enough to make it hard to breathe from the sensation alone.

"S- . . . s-sure," he finally managed after a moment, having to swallow around the word, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to get out of this position _right fucking now_ or if he wanted to stay just like this forever.

"Aren't yeh supposed teh say somethin'?"

Jack leaned forward as he asked the question, his voice strangely neutral, still gruff but guarded, and there was a certain . . . lightness to the question. Like a neutral starting point. You could take the conversation in any direction after that, and maybe Mark would have had a chance to take that opportunity, if not for the fact that Jack had leaned over him, and he _swore_ he rocked his hips forward on purpose.

Mark bit his tongue, desperately trying to stop the whimper in his throat as he was pressed back into the couch, and the little half-interested chub he'd started with was flying at full mast now, and even through his jeans he was having trouble with the feeling.

"Mark?" Jack asked again, and the hand holding his arm released it, letting him ease the pressure in his shoulder. He could have pushed off the couch if he really wanted to. But he didn't think he wanted to, because Jack's now free hand had fallen to his hip, and his fingers were digging in under the shirt there.

There were a few heartbeats of silence, Mark's erratic breathing sounding too loud in his ears, almost drowning out Jack's heavy cadence, before Jack spoke again, in a tight, almost incredulous voice.

"Are you hard right now?"

Mark choked, his face turning into the couch on instinct, and his voice was muffled as he shot back, "Jack, what the fuck-"

The hand at his hip pulled him back flush against Jack's groin, and his voice died into a muffled moan as he felt something unmistakably hard pressing into him through his jeans. Jack's hand had left his hip, following his waistband around to the button of his jeans, and then tracing down, searching, until he found what he wanted, and he gave his aching length a harsh squeeze through his jeans.

"Oh my god, yeh are."

His voice was breathless, right against his ear, and Mark trembled beneath him, his voice hitching in his throat as he whined at the rough feeling of his jeans rubbing against his erection, spurred by _Jack's fucking hand_ , of all things.

"Holy shit."

"J-Jack, shit, what . . . ahh . . ." He couldn't form sentences properly, not with his heart trying to choke him, adrenaline rushing through his veins, Jack's hand slipping from his neck to smooth down his back, pressing down on his spine, forcing him to arch, popping his ass out for him, and he could have fought if he really wanted to. But he didn't.

Once the hand had finished forcing him into the shape he wanted, it fell to his other hip, holding him flush against him as he arched down over Mark's prone body, stopping with his face just above the space between his shoulder blades - Mark could feel his breath ghosting against him through his shirt - and he was breathing hard as he held him like that for just a moment. His other hand was still squeezing at his shaft through his jeans, creating a pulse with his fingers, and Mark groaned, his face pressed firmly into the cushions as he subtly rocked his hips back against Jack's own erection.

" _Jack_ ," he whined after another moment, his fingers digging into the soft material of the couch, and Jack groaned behind him, and suddenly both his hands were fumbling with Mark's fly, tugging the button undone and yanking at his zipper, and Mark was breathing heavy through his nose, resisting the urge to dig his teeth into the couch as well.

"Fuck, is this okay?" Jack asked in a strained voice, as his hands tugged at his jeans pulling them out of the way, fingers dancing across his boxers, and Mark nodded, heat spreading across his face and down his neck as he admitted how bad he wanted this right then.

"Yeah, hah . . . yeah, it's okay, _fuck_ ," he cursed emphatically as Jack's fingers dipped under his waistband to curl around his aching shaft.

Jack ran his palm roughly across the head, smearing the thin line of precum that had started, and Mark hissed as he used it to slick down his length, giving him a few slow, short pumps, rough but exactly what he wanted just then, and holy shit, Jack was _literally giving him a handjob right now_.

"What the fuck got yeh so riled up?" Jack asked, his voice rough in his ear as he pressed his face into his back, one hand coming up to shove at his shirt, and Mark was tempted to rip the thing off if that's what he wanted.

"Your . . . stupid . . . you were . . ." He couldn't seem to put sentences together as Jack ran his hand down his shaft, squeezing just right under the head, and he was pressing back into him, grinding against the heat he could feel trapped there.

"Me?" Jack asked, and his voice was husky, but a little surprised. Mark barked out a shaky little laugh at that, his voice breathless and shaky as he continued.

"Yeah, _you_ . . . and your goddamn . . . you were all . . . dominant, and . . . it was . . . sexy, I mean . . . _god_."

Jack made a noise, like a laugh and a groan together, and Mark pushed back against him harder, needy and frustrated. Now that he knew Jack was willing and open to this, Mark wanted this to go _so much faster_.

"Was not expecting that," Jack breathed, and Mark felt the flush spread fresh across his face. It didn't sound like he thought it was a _bad_ thing, but his gut was still roiling at the fact that Jack was seeing him like this for the first time. If he couldn't feel the way his hips stuttered, shallowly grinding his erection against Mark's ass, he might have been more worried.

Jack's free hand was roaming under his shirt, scoring light marks down his back, and Mark arched into the feeling, wanting him to press harder as he panted beneath him. He ran a set of lines down from one shoulder down to his hips, fingers hooking into his loose waistline again before slipping around to slide smoothly up his stomach.

"Take yer shirt off," Jack commanded, leaning back and tugging Mark along with him, pulling his face from the lovely dark cushions and baring his hot cheeks to the cool air. Mark _whined_ as Jack pulled him back against his lap, one arm wrapped around his stomach, his other still lazily stroking his shaft, and Mark brought shaky fingers up to rip at his shirt, fumbling a bit as he tore it over his head, shivering at the cool air against his skin.

The moment he was free of it, Jack's hand was roaming again, running up his stomach, across his chest, fingers stretching across his throat, and Mark groaned as he ground back into his lap, his own hand coming up to run through Jack's messy hair over his shoulder.

But he only got a minute to play with it before Jack stopped him, hand leaving his throat to wrap firmly around his wrist and yank him forward, pressing him back into the couch with a growl, and Mark was panting as he laid out across the comfortable cushions, pliant beneath him, rocking shallowing into his hand.

Jack's hand released his wrist, but Mark didn't move it from where he'd put it, high over his head, almost tucked into the back of the couch, and instead he brought his other hand up to join it, digging his nails in and breathing hard. Jack's hand disappeared, but Mark was unconcerned as he rocked into the one still wrapped around his shaft. It wasn't until he heard the rasp of the zipper that he realized what he was doing.

Jack let out a shaky breath behind him, and Mark's toes curled at the sound, his face buried firmly in the cushions once again as he felt the heat disappear from his ass, leaving him pressing into nothing, and he tried not to whine again, knowing how needy he sounded just then. He could hear Jack shifting behind him, the hand at his cock slowing as he worked to free himself, and Mark wanted to turn around to watch, but it was like he'd anchored himself to this spot with those obedient wrists, and he could only wait for Jack to be ready.

After a moment, he felt Jack's hand back at his waist, but this time it was tugging at his jeans, shoving them down, hooking his fingers into his boxers to do the same, and Mark's breathing was hitching up sharply, a sense of almost panic setting in. Because he wanted it, he really did, but shit he was nervous, and Jack's hands felt really good, and he'd definitely fantasized about this, but he'd never expected it actually happen, and now it was going to, and-

"Breathe, Mark," Jack murmured against the skin between his shoulder blades, and he wasn't sure when he'd gotten there, craning over him again as his hand stroked him languid and slow. His breath was rushing out across the skin there, soft and warm, and Mark closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling, moaning into the soft fabric of the couch as Jack's hand dipped down to soothe across his balls, rolling them generously in his hand. His warmth against his back and the firm hand gripping his hip seemed to ground him, and he sighed as the sudden tension started to seep from his muscles, replaced with warm waves of pleasure once more.

Jack shifted again, hand leaving his hip once more, and Mark didn't need to ask what the sudden heat pressing against his tailbone was. Jack's cock pressed against the base of his spine, rutting up softly against the skin there, and he moaned a little louder as Jack's hand came back up to wrap around his wrists, pinning them together as he rocked against him. Mark could feel the wetness against his skin, knew Jack was leaking across him, and he groaned at the thought of the Irishman being as worked up as he was, the hand at his own cock slick with precum now.

"Jack, _fuck_ ," he whined, the sound muffled by the cushion, but still loud enough to hear in the quiet room as he shifted, arching his back further so that Jack was rutting between his cheeks instead of his back, and he could hear the man curse harshly under his breath as he slotted himself just so, precum leaking across his ass to make the slide easier, and Mark was moaning again as he helped the Irishman rock against him, relishing in the tight feel of the fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding him down.

It didn't take long for this new position to drive Mark to frustration. He was moaning and whining near continuously now, his teeth digging into the soft material of the couch, as Jack rutted and jerked him. His ass was slick enough now that Jack was rocking deep, each thrust running his shaft against Mark's hole, and Mark wanted to howl in frustration as he felt it slip across him again and again, not satisfying that ache that was starting to set in. He could hear Jack breathing harshly behind him, fingers tight on his wrists, and he was starting to get afraid that Jack was just planning to get him off like this.

"Jack," Mark groaned, pulling his face up just enough from the couch so he wasn't muffling his voice, face hot and flushed and sweaty as he trembled. "Jack, come the fuck on."

He heard the little snort from above him, the little chuckle, like he was amused with Mark's frustration, and the American grit his teeth as he rocked back harder, earning a little noise from the dark-haired man.

" _Fuck me_ , Jack, Jesus Christ."

Jack slowed, the hand at his shaft releasing him to grab his hip, sticky and messy against his skin, though Mark could care less about that. He cared much more about the way Jack had shifted to a new angle, teasing his cock against Mark's entrance in a way that had his breath stuttering in fear and anticipation.

"Don't move," Jack commanded in that iron tone again, and Mark was nodding immediately, face back in the cushion, body shaking beneath him as he waited. The hand holding his wrists down released him, and then the Irishman was pulling away, warmth disappearing from his back.

He could hear him make his way out of the living room, back to the foyer, hear him rifling through one of his bags before he was striding back to him, the sound of his footsteps muffled against the carpet, but Mark was listening close enough to hear them.

The feel of hands wrapping around his ankles were startling, and he yelped in surprise as Jack yanked him off the couch, dragging him away and flipping him over in a show of strength he would never have expected from the wiry young boy he'd first met all that time ago.

When had Jack gotten so fucking strong?

His hands were firm on his body as Mark laid out on his back, his heavy shaft falling back against his stomach with a soft, wet smack. Jack's fingers dug into his hips as he kneeled between his legs, yanking him up bodily until his arms were hooked under in the crook of his knees, and Mark's ass was resting against Jack's thighs. He was bent over now, feeling exposed and not nearly as embarrassed as he probably should be as Jack took a moment to shed his black shirt, fingers coming back to grip at the soft flesh of his thighs, and let out a low groan.

Jack's cock was pinned against his body by Mark's leg, and the American was already moving, leaning forward to reach for it, shifting his leg to be able to wrap his fingers around it before Jack's hands caught his in a firm grip and shoved forward, his weight bending Mark in half for a moment as he forced his hands above his head.

"Keep them there," Jack murmured, eyes dark as he released him and leaned back, running his hands up Mark's thighs as he did. One hand reached beside him, producing a little bottle of lube, and Mark was happy to obey if it meant he was finally going to get on with it. His breath sounded obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the room. But then, so did Jack's. And neither of them really seemed to mind.

Mark groaned as Jack's fingers circled him, a light pressure that had him tilting his head back and trying to shove his hips up. He hadn't had this in a while, and his groans were already throaty, legs shaking at the sensation. Jack took his time, light pressure building until he was teasing him open, careful and sure, and Mark bit his lip to stop the stupid noise he was starting to make.

It slipped past his lips as Jack finally pressed a finger inside, curling it within him with light pressure as he worked him open. He added a second quickly, and Mark hissed a little at the stretch, groaning at the feeling, and he was glad Jack wasn't going as painfully slow with this as he had with the rest.

"F-fuck," he stuttered, and his cock bounced against his stomach as Jack curved his fingers just right, pressing harshly into his prostate, and Mark's hand came up on instinct, reaching for his own aching shaft to relieve the pressure there. But Jack's hand batted him away before he could reach it.

"Put yer hands back up there, Mark," he commanded, and his voice was still hard, though a little breathless. Mark whined, rocking up into him, his neck aching from his bent position as he looked up at Jack's expression - dark eyes, mouth parted, a frightening intensity to his gaze as he watched his work.

"Jack-"

"No. This is fer all the times-" and he paused to twist his fingers just right, jamming against that spot and sending shock waves through him that had him jerking in his grip. "-yeh fucked up, and wouldn't. Fucking. Admit it."

Mark wrapped his hand around his own wrist, digging his fingers into the skin there harshly as he fought to keep his hands above his head, yanking and twisting as he whined and gasped, legs snapping to wrap around Jack's torso, anchoring himself as he struggled through the onslaught.

He'd had a lot of fantasies about Jack before. But he'd never managed to imagine him like this, hard and sure and strong, confident in his ability to turn Mark into putty in his hands, and Mark moaned loudly, having to shut his eyes to block out the intensity of Jack's blue eyes. He'd never expected it, never expected it would be _this fucking good_ , and he was prepared to take any kind of "punishment" this dominant Jack wanted to dish out on his trembling body.

If he needed to take out his anger at every time Mark had been a complete asshole to him, he was happy to take it.

Fuck, he was so goddamn sexy like this.

" _Jack_ ," Mark groaned, panting beneath him as he scissored him open, Mark's hips rolling as his body accustomed itself to the sensation, and he was left with only the pleasant stretch and the sharp shocks of pleasure as Jack bruised against his prostate. "Jack, fuck . . . _fuck_ , Jack, come on, fuck me, Jack, come _on_."

Jack sucked in a breath, his eyes darkening as he spread him enough to add a third finger, and Mark was fucking himself onto the fingers as best he could, frustrated and whining and begging unashamedly as he twisting his wrist, digging his nails in to stop himself from reaching out to grab him himself. If he didn't fuck him soon, he was going to go fucking insane.

"Ask me again," Jack growled after another few minutes of torture, Mark leaking across his stomach, eyes glassy as he panted in desperation. But they cleared a bit, and he craned his neck up just a little, as far as it would go, to catch Jack's gaze, swallowing a rough breath as he took in his face. He released his own wrist, hands coming up to grab at Jack's shoulders, and he could see the stern glare, the silent command to put them back, but he ignored it as he dragged the Irishman down into a fierce kiss.

It was messy, sloppy, spit and teeth and bruised lips as Mark struggled to remember how kissing was usually supposed to go. This was hot and forceful, almost angry against his sensitive mouth, and he groaned as Jack growled against him, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth, swiping across his own, across his teeth, exploring.

"Fuck me, Jack" Mark breathed between hard kisses, and he felt Jack's groan reverberate through his body. " _Please_."

Suddenly, Jack was pulling back, and Mark keened at the loss, whining as he felt the hand wrap around his wrist and force his hands back above his head.

"Keep. Them. There."

And then he leaned back, reaching beside him, and Mark could hear the crinkling sound as Jack tore a condom open with his teeth. He was breathing hard, his hair messy against his face as he waited for Jack to prepare himself, a light sheen of sweat already spritzed across his body, and he knew he probably looked like a goddamn mess right now, but he didn't care.

Jack's fingers bit into his thigh as he slowly started pushing in, and Mark groaned, throaty and low, the pitch raising the further he sank, and he was trembling again as that sensation of _fullness_ blocked out the burn and sting of the stretch. Jack didn't pause until he was sunk to the hilt, hands coming out to grip the soft flesh of his thighs and hold him still as he adjusted to his thickness.

Mark knew how long he should have waited, knew how long it'd take for his body to completely adjust to the feeling. But he didn't _want_ to wait that long. The pain was good, it told him this was happening, made him feel alive, fit so perfectly with Jack's dark eyes as his fingers dug into his legs so sharply, and Mark was nodding for him to move before he really should, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret it as Jack pulled slowly back, only to rock into him again.

He started slow, just like with everything else. More a tease than a fuck, and Mark was already huffing in frustration, his hips rocking up to meet him on every stroke, the angle so right, his body curved up and open for him as he fucked down into him, and he was already gasping, half-mindless with all the torture the damn Irishman had put him through to start.

Jack picked up the speed slowly, and Mark moaned his appreciation, his name slipping from his lips as he tossed his head back, messy hair falling in his eyes. Jack leaned forward, one hand coming out to brush it from his face, before he was leaning further over him, and wrapping his fingers around the spot where Mark was grabbing his own wrist again, effectively pinning him as he fucked him.

"Fuck, Jack, harder, oh . . . _god_." His voice was hitching up higher as he spoke, from his low, natural rumble to a whine, and he was twisting in his grasp, wanting more, harder, faster, more skin against him, his weight bearing down on him, and to his surprise, Jack obliged. The dark-haired man leaned down, adjusting his grip on Mark's hips and settling their position so he could press down on him, burying his face in his neck as he kept a steady, bruising rhythm, and Mark keened at the feeling.

"God, _Mark_ ," Jack breathed in his ear, in that same rough voice, and Mark bucked against him, gasping at the way his voice made pleasure ripple through his body. He was close now, too worked up, fucking back against Jack on every stroke, somehow catching the same rhythm and they were in perfect sync as Mark gasped back into his ear.

"Fuck, Jack, _Seán_ , fuck, yes, Seán, yes-" His voice cut off sharply as Jack bucked into him, brutal now, stabbing against his prostate with every stroke, and Mark couldn't stop it as his orgasm caught him like a tidal wave.

Jack released his hands at the last second, and Mark yanked them forward, clutching at his back, digging little red crescents into his skin as Jack reached down to stroke him through his orgasm. He was saying something in his ear, but Mark couldn't hear it, couldn't hear anything, couldn't even tell what he himself was saying as his eyes rolled back and he shuddered beneath him. He did catch the moment Jack's thrusts became erratic, felt it as he stilled and jerked inside him, and he groaned his name again, body unraveling like some complex knot pulled just right.

By the time Jack started to slow, Mark was thinking clear enough to reach numb hands up to cup his face, dragging him up and holding him and he gave him soft, lazy kisses, trailing his lips along his mouth, under his jaw, down his throat, only to come back and press them slowly against his lips. Jack kissed back, just as slow, tired, but he could feel the little smile that was creeping up his face.

"Did yeh really cum without . . ." his voice trailed off in a tired kind of murmur, and Mark chuckled a little against him, choosing to answer around his lips rather than stop the languid kisses.

"Yeah . . . I'm pretty good . . . at cumming."

Jack snorted softly, but didn't say anything for a moment, both of them just exploring each other's mouths until Jack's arms trembled, and he flopped back down onto Mark.

"I was not expecting that," the Irishman admitted into the little space between his shoulder and the carpet, and Mark huffed against his not-unpleasant weight.

"What, the cumming? Or me wanting you?"

"I knew yeh wanted me, Mark."

"Oh."

There was silence for a few moments as they both processed the words, before Jack continued.

"Was more surprised . . . that yeh were willing teh . . . yeh know . . . be the bottom."

Mark laughed, feeling Jack's chest move with him as he did.

"I'm pretty comfortable with both, actually."

"Well . . . that's news teh me."

Mark wasn't sure how long they laid there, flat on the living room floor, naked and tangled up in each other, sticky with sweat and cum, before Jack spoke up again.

"I know what I want for my wish."

"What, it wasn't this?" Mark laughed, and he snickered with glee as he felt Jack jab him in the ribs.

"No." And then he was sitting up, pushing himself away so that he could look down at Mark's face with those gorgeous, bright blue eyes. Mark swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable, open, despite everything that had just happened. Or maybe because of it.

"Okay?"

"I want you to apologize."

Mark felt his chest tighten, the air rushing through his teeth at the request, and he had to fight not to look away, not to hide his face or make a joke and just escape as Jack looked down at him with serious eyes. It'd be easier to joke it off. But he couldn't. Jack . . . _Seán_ deserved better than that. He deserved better than a friend that was willing to hurt him just to make his own life easier. And Mark didn't want to hurt him anymore. He didn't want to have to watch from the sidelines, a continent apart, as Jack lived his own life, content without Mark by his side. He couldn't do it again. He wouldn't.

Mark swallowed, searching Jack's face with open eyes, trying to let him see the emotions playing through him, trying not to clam up and hide behind goofy words and light tones, because now was not the time, and he wanted him to know he cared. He really did. And when he finally opened his mouth, his voice was the most genuine he'd ever heard it - soft and raw, and cracking, as his eyes burned.

"I'm sorry, Seán." Mark gasped as he felt the weight of the apology he’d owed for far too long tighten in his throat. And it was hard, and his stomach roiled, and his brain told him to turn away and just not. But Jack deserved this. "I am. I swear. I'm stupid and stubborn, but mostly stupid, okay? And I'm . . . I'm gonna try . . . to make it up to you."

Jack considered him for a long moment, blue eyes dancing across his face, studying him, before he nodded, and Mark felt the creature that had twisted around his gut uncoil, and he sank back into the gooey, post-orgasmic bliss.

"We should go take a shower," Jack said eventually, cringing a little as he pulled off of Mark, slipping from him and making him feel strangely empty, despite his satisfaction. "And then I want spaghetti."

Mark grinned up at him, one hand coming up to rub at his eyes, chasing away the wetness that had threatened and sitting up with a little laugh.

"Jack, I'm gonna make you the best goddamn spaghetti you have ever had in your life."

And Jack grinned back at him as he stood, one hand running through his messy hair to push it from his eyes.

"I expect nothing less, Markimoo."

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd to the tune of [Wait by Maroon 5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uTNVumfm84) by the lovely [tfwfangirlsatk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfwfangirlsatk)


End file.
